Date: Thu, 20 May 2004 13:36:26 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor
Subject: The Dahran Rebuttals - Chapter 11 - Gay - Authoritarian
This is the eleventh chapter ex twenty two of a novel about present
day slavery and gay sex.
The Dahran trilogies are composed to date of 6 novels:
Trilogy one:
The Changed Life
The Reluctant Retrainer
The Market Offer
Trilogy two:
The Special Memories
The Dahran Way
The Dahran Rebuttals (this novel)
Keywords:
authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, submission,
gay, sex
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its
characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful
for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage
now.
Contact points:
e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/
w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories
Yahoo! Messenger : gerrytaylor_78
Chapter 11--The assumption of hatred
In dealing with slaves, there is one simple principle--the Master can do
no wrong. It is a Middle Eastern principle, which medieval kings adopted
for their legal systems--that the monarch being the sole and absolute
authority, could and would do nothing against his own interests and
therefore could do no wrong.
So while I, as the Master, can do something one way on Monday, on Friday
I can do the absolute opposite, if such is in my own interest and I am
still correct. It can be a bit complicated for slaves to follow, if
conflicting commands or even suggestions are given too often, so it is
best to choose one clear path of action and plod along it without too
many contradictory turns. Events themselves may in their turn annoy you
or speed you up, or slow you down on your way.
I make a point of sitting on the veranda of the Lime Palace after dinner,
whether in the presence of the Doctors who seem to enjoy their own
company immensely, or sometimes with Aziz, though he tends now that he
has his own household to run, to disappear off there as soon as the
dinner is under way and especially since he has acquired a sand-buggy.
Thereby hangs a tale. Aziz al-Aziz was a slave all his life, in the
service of the al-Akhri family, the Aloe Palace's former owners.
What he learned in the service of the family, he learned admirably. What
he did not learn was how to drive and although a sand-buggy has just
simple forward and backward gears, with an accelerator to increase speed
and a brake to stop, even all of those mechanical parts were too much for
a person, who for half a century had never used them.
From what Ben Trant told me, when Aziz got behind the wheel of the
sand-buggy on the first few occasions, every slave within striking
distance took to his heels, as Aziz while having a good sense of
direction, had no sense whatsoever of speed and distance, upending at
least half a dozen slaves on various occasions and putting the sand-buggy
once into one of the gardens and once into a patch of aubergines.
The matter was solved when his giant Bulgarian slave, Yedo Petrov, with
whom he had the closest relationship, but not a sexual contact that we
ever found out, very diplomatically suggested at their common evening
dinner--Aziz headed the table of his own slaves--was that what the his
Master needed was a chauffeur like Sir Jonathan.
All his own slaves, most likely for their own safety as well,
enthusiastically backed Yedo's suggestion and so Mamoud and Mehmed, with
Yedo to help them out when too busy, became joint drivers of the
sand-buggy to Aziz and the slave-body to a man let out a collective
breath of relief.
Aziz however, with his golden fly-swish of a Master, had to be seen to be
believed as he was driven, with all the pomp of an Egyptian pharaoh up
and down the road between the Aloe and Lime Palaces.
However, the main purpose of sitting out on the veranda after dinner is
that the slaves can approach me for whatever they want to mention. Since
the arrival of Ben Trant--at hand to make notes--I get through a lot more
than I used to.
It was one late November evening and a good hour after dinner had
finished and I was enjoying a glass of Bob Conrad's limejuice, when I
noticed that Jean-Pierre Fournier was in the approaching line of slaves.
It was a slightly awkward situation in that his own father, the Doctor,
Yves Fournier, was sitting with his back to the line and could not
therefore see who was approaching, he being in animated conversation with
the other medical staff, who normally simply ignore me and the slaves who
come up and down the veranda steps.
I whispered to Ben Trant who was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside
me, to tell Jean-Pierre I would call him later that evening. This Ben
did.
However, the problem resolved itself almost immediately, as the medical
staff went for a walk around the water gardens.
I had Jean-Pierre called back and he appeared immediately from the slave
quarters.
His request, it turned out, was to be assigned as a buddy to another
slave he was working with on the building site of the Lemon Palace. I was
surprised to hear that it was not only one of the EU prisoners who were
housed there, but actually Fernand Salort, the Corsican sailor, whom the
trainers had so much trouble bringing into line.
'Why?' I asked without really thinking. Neither appeared to have anything
in common, except the obvious common French nationality. And that was it!
'We both speak French, Master. But only when the overseers are not within
hearing,' Jean-Pierre replied a little sheepishly.
'And how is your Arabic and English progressing?'
The question of Arabic was a bit academic as I could hear that he was
speaking it--perhaps with a slightly strange underlying Tunisian-French
intonation, but quite well nevertheless.
'Very well, Master.'
`You would have to move over to the Lemon Palace and sleep there at
night. You would have to stay with the other slaves who were formerly in
prison. Are you sure you want that? If you are Fernand's buddy, you will
be locked in during the night, just like him.'
`Yes, Master, I understand. I would really like to stay with him, if you
allow it. I am not really scared of the other slaves any more, the
overseers would not let them get away with anything. And you know,
Master, that I have been in prison before, like Fernand. I don't mind
being locked in at night.'
`Very well, if you are ready for that in exchange for speaking French
with your buddy, I will reassign you to the Lemon Palace.'
Jean-Pierre's face lit up, and he dropped to his knees in a perfect
obeisance. He did not come close to me, nor kiss my hand or touch me in
any way, as some of my other slaves would have done. But when he rose
again, I saw him smile for the very first time since I had first set my
eyes on him, when he was made a slave at al-Qatim.
`Thank you, Master. And, Master, I thank you also for letting me work
with the other slaves. I am never alone any more.'
`If you continue working well at the Lemon Palace, I can assure you that
you will never have to get near one of my water-wheels again,
Jean-Pierre. Now be off with you, and next time I inspect the Lemon
Palace, I will take a look at that buddy of yours.'
When I saw them together at the Lemon Palace the next day, Jean-Pierre
Fournier and Fernand Salort were an interesting pair to watch.
Standing before me at rest, slightly covered in dust from the
construction site, they had placed themselves as close as was possible
without their upper arms actually touching each other. It was as if their
posture reaffirmed what Jean-Pierre had tried to put into words, that
here were two slaves seeking companionship in a strange environment,
finding comfort in the language they shared and the closeness of their
bodies.
`I hope you appreciate having Jean-Pierre here at night, Fernand.'
`Yes, Master. He is a good copain. A good friend, I mean.
As he had replied with genuine sincerity, I said `Okay, Fernand. Sex
technique classes for, what? A month?'
`Yes, Master. Thank you, Master,' and he gave Jean-Pierre's arm a
playful punch.
Two happy slaves took themselves off, at least talking in Arabic to each
other.
I was nonetheless surprised to see Jess Tollman, Greg's buddy and Fiona
Tuttle's former chauffeur in the line on his own on the same evening
when Jean-Pierre spoke to me about Fernand.
Normally the slaves tend to come up two by two and the one who wants
something speaks up. When a slave comes up on his own, it has normally
indicated some problem or other, or that a change of partner is being
requested.
When it was Jess' turn, I tried to set him at his ease, enquiring about
the two scars on his back from the shopping arcade incident. He made
light of them as he had done before.
`Badges of honour, Boss, badges of honour.'
`Do you miss driving Mistress Fiona around?'
`Yes, Boss, to tell the truth, I do. Nothing to do with getting out of
the Palace. Everything to do with getting behind the wheel of the Lincoln
Continental. Wasn't it a beauty of a car? Top of the range, Boss.'
I could see how he missed being a chauffeur.
`Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?'
`No, Boss, not at all. But you're not going to like what I am going to
ask for.'
He seemed a little lost for words, which was strange for Jess who had a
great outgoing personality.
`I never really thanked you for sending on that cheque for the education
of the kids. We've never really been together since the accident.'
He was looking at the ground, as if a little embarrassed. Jess was
referring to the proceeds of the sale as slaves of the two so-called
friends, who had sold him into slavery and whom I had lifted as a `thank
you' to him for the shopping arcade incident. These two so-called
friends were now toiling away in a desert opal mine in central Dahra. He
was also reminding me that I had not had him in my bed since the shopping
arcade accident.
`Jess, in saving Mistress Fiona's life and that of her unborn child, it
is all of us who owe you so much. As for the cheque, I topped it up to an
even figure. By the time your boy and girl get into the school system
proper, your wife will have a tidy investment for their education.'
`You topped up the cheque, Boss?'
`Yes, to seventy five thousand. Jess, it was a very small favour from me
to you for what you did. Nothing more. Don't even think about it. As for
not having you in my bed, I thought Greg and you were getting on even
better than ever.'
He hesitated for a moment, then said: `Boss, everything is fine with us.
Maybe at some point... Greg has mentioned to me that he has seen
somebody, but he is not sure yet. Maybe at some point he will want to
move on. It is fine with me. I want him to be happy. But that is not
official, Boss, not until Greg makes up his mind. He will want to ask you
about it himself.'
Then he was silent
`So what did you want to see me about?'
`Boss, I can't ask for it now that you told me about topping up the
cheque. I can't.'
`Jess, look at me,' and I lifted his chin, so that he had to look me in
the eye.
`You know what I say, Jess, we look each other in the eye here. So what
is it you want and you have it.'
He swallowed hard.
`Boss, I have been talking with Randy, Pete, Todd and Raoul...'
These were my slaves who had been slaves with him at Farouq al-Hamdi's
opal mine.
`Yes?'
I did not know where the conversation was going.
`...about you letting me decide on the time that Shawnie and Paulie are
to spend there...'
`And?
`Boss, I was angry and full of hate that day when you sold them to the
mine and when I said four years, I wanted really to say for life. I
wanted them dead. I have seen slaves die after even three years there.
Now, Boss, I don't want their sentence on my conscience. Can you get
them out of there? Can you, please?'
I looked at Jess Tollman and his greatness of soul was one of the things
that I always liked about him.
`Jess, they are barely there six months.'
`Boss,' was all he said and there was a quaver in his voice, as he bent
forward on his knees and kissed my feet. He was about to put my right
foot on the back of his head in perfect slave submission to a Master,
when I stopped him.
`Boss, I can't spend my days hating them. I just can't and I don't
want to think of them suffering what I suffered at the mine. You have no
idea what that heat does to you day after day.'
I could imagine, but I held my silence.
`Would you be able to find them work here, Jess?'
He smiled as only he can do and said, `Well, Boss, there is always a
water-wheel or two free. But for anybody from the opal mine, a
water-wheel would be a doddle. It would be the fact that no one speaks to
a slave on a water-wheel that would be the killer.'
Two days later, two sorry looking slaves were delivered to the Lime
Palace from Farouq al-Hamdi's opal mine, looking very frightened indeed.
They had been apparently told that they were being sent to the Retrainer.
One or other had pissed the floor of the Transit van in fear.
Aziz took delivery and handed them over to Niko Ziel, the trainer in
joint charge of the Lemon Palace's first compound who took them away to
be prepped for the first training session.
When I reminded Jess that evening that those who were now being trained
at the Lemon Palace were usually half-gelded, he said, `Boss, I have
nothing to exchange with you, if you don't half-castrate them. I can
only offer you extra loyalty and now that you have bought them, I can
truly and honestly say that I can offer you my love. It sounds crazy. I
have never told anyone, but my wife that I loved her. But Boss...not
sexually...but somehow I love you. The fact that Shawnie and Paulie are
now safely here, I just feel such a sense of relief and of what is right.
I don't want to lose that feeling. I don't want you to half-geld them,
please.'
That was quite a speech for Jess Tollman and I told him so.
`Okay, Jess, no half-gelding until you order it.'
`Order it, Boss? Only overseers order.'
I whispered to Ben Trant who, as usual, was sitting on the floor beside
me on the veranda, as I was speaking to Jess. He got up immediately and
went in to the safe in the study.
I was happy for Jess Tollman. Hatred is such a poor companion in life and
leaves you withered inside. Jess had gotten over his and that pleased me.
`I think it time that you spread your wings a bit, Jess. I think you
will you be comfortable being an overseer. Give me your ivory
fly-swish.'
Jess handed over his symbol of authority as an assistant-overseer.
Ben Trant was back with an onyx fly-swish from the study.
I remember thinking at that moment how quiet the evening was, as other
slaves looked on and Jess Tollman was promoted to overseer and handed his
black onyx fly-swish, the symbol of authority conferred on him by his
Master.
The following morning when I had finished my correspondence, I called
Jess again and said that we would go down to the Lemon Palace and take at
look at his two acquisitions.
`My acquisitions, Boss?'
`Well, mine as owner, Jess, but really they are and will be yours, you
know. You do with them what you will. You can keep them in the compounds
as long as you want, have them punished for what they did to you as long
as you want, put them on the water-wheels afterwards for as long as you
want. As far as Shawnie and Paulie are concerned, they are yours to do
with as you will.
You can leave that shirt on, Jess, but I want you to change to the pants
of your chauffeur uniform. Then go to where I have parked the sand-buggy
and wait for me.'
When I came outside to join him, Jess Tollman was silent, standing there,
his superbly trained body glinting in the morning sun, his onyx fly-swish
in this hand and he looked at me as I sat up on the sand-buggy. I said to
him, `Are you sure you know how to drive one of these things, Jess?'
`Boss, after a Lincoln Continental, this buggy is child's play.'
On the road to the Lemon Palace, I asked him: `Is it going to be hard
for you, Jess, if Greg really chooses a new buddy? The most intimate of
things have happened between you that only happen between buddies and
lovers As an overseer, you can take your pick among the slaves. But you
have been together since you first arrived here..'
Jess was silent. We drove on. I waited.
`Boss, do you want me to tell you about it?'
`Only if you want to, Jess.'
For a long while he just looked straight ahead, at the road through the
Aloe plantation, and the approaching palm groves beyond.
`As you say, Boss, Greg and I go back a long way. A very long way, not
so much in terms of time, but in terms of what we have been through. I
don't like to think of the beginning very often, if I can help it.
Though when we do our job in the retraining room, I guess it would seem
strange if I did not now and then remember the time when I was lying on
that table myself, and what happened to me, and what happened afterwards.
It was... that first evening when he fucked me, it was very, very
painful. I was sore, I was tense, and I was absolutely terrified. I did
not hate him for what he did; I don't think I was capable of hatred at
that moment, Boss. You had scared it out of me.
Greg took me to his room. There he just pointed to the pallet. He told me
to lick him and suck him, and he was instantly hard. He said: `Turn
over, spread your legs, and take it!', and that is what I did.
I screamed as I had earlier that evening, when you had used the corded
whip on me. It was not only the pain, Master, it was because it was so
frightening. I could not help it, I screamed and then I thought he was
going to hit me for it, but he didn't. He just fucked the living
daylights out of me. Then he fell asleep beside me, and my thoughts kept
me awake, and the pain. Truly, Master, it was the worst night in my
entire life. When he awoke, Greg just took one look at me, told me to
shit and clean myself, and then he fucked me again.'
His voice sounded hoarse, but his hands held the steering-wheel firmly.
`Then, Master, when Master Farouq gave me to you, I was told that I was
to stay with Greg, day and night, and he was going to supervise me. I
thought `This is it. This guy is going to make your life so miserable,
you will wish you were back at the mine.'
Greg was always testing me, waiting for me to complain. But I didn't,
because I knew he would just tell me to shut up and do as I was told. I
was afraid of Greg then, almost as afraid as I was of you, Master. I was
certain that if I did not do exactly what he wanted, he would have me
back in retraining in no time at all.'
`That was the idea, Jess.'
`I know, Boss. After a while, I realised that Greg did not hate me or
despise me, he did not do anything to me out of resentment. He was just
complying with your orders, teaching me that I was a slave and my that
body did not belong to me. I saw that he accepted being your slave and it
worked for him, and also that you, Master, trusted him in return. So I
tried to do the same, accept your will, and do my best.
Things began to change because Greg actually started talking to me, not
just giving orders, but telling me something about himself, asking me
questions, sometimes giving praise for my work -- not like Aziz, you
know, Boss -- he was the third one I was scared of!
One night Greg began making love to me, not just fucking me from every
angle he fancied, but checking out how I reacted and what got me hard and
panting for more. That is how I realised that Greg actually cared for me,
that he did not just see me as a training assignment.
It helped me relax, and little by little I learned to enjoy just about
anything we did. I found out that Greg was not only inventive, he was
actually fun to be with. He taught me that I could trust him, that I
could let him do whatever he wanted and go with the flow. I rediscovered
how to let pleasure take over, as I had thought I never would again.
Greg saved me from the pit of despair I had fallen into, he really did.
He showed me that being your slave was no reason for despair, not at all.
That is what he is good at, Boss, it is what he does all the time -- take
someone to rock bottom, and then pull him up again.
And he never goes a single step beyond what is necessary, or what you
ordered, Boss. That is something he took great pains to teach me, too. He
knows when to be unyielding, and he knows when to be reassuring. I won't
deny that it gives us a kick to see some of them -- now I was going to
say `shake in their shoes', Boss, but you'll ask me, what shoes?!'
We leaned back in the seats of the sand-buggy and laughed. Already we
were parked next to the first training compound. There was no hurry, and
Jess' tale showed me my assistant retrainers from an angle I had
sometimes caught a glimpse of, but had seldom perceived in its depth.
`Anyway, we both like the acting part. Sometimes, before we take a slave
in for retraining, we put our heads together, not actually rehearse, you
know, Boss, just collect some ideas about what we might say and do.
And Greg has always been there for me when things were difficult. Like
the execution... don't get me wrong, Boss, I would gladly have done it
myself! Gladly! But it is good to have someone to talk to afterwards.
Even if Greg chooses a new buddy, I think that will not change.'
`I am glad you give each other the support you need, Jess. And I mean
not just the support you get from Greg -- also the other way round. I am
sure he tells you all the time how great it is to have someone like you
around, doesn't he?'
With a faint shade of red on his cheeks, Jess nodded.
`So, you and Greg have a faible for role-play? Can you improvise? Let's
see if Niko can! Are you ready for some action, Mr. Tollman?'
Jess gave me a startled look. Then he looked down at his long trouser
legs effectively hiding his ankle bracelet, looked at me again, and shook
his head grinning.
`You're on, Boss, I can be anything you say.'
As we arrived at the first compound, Niko Ziel was putting a batch of
five slaves through their paces, including Paulie and Shawnie. All
stopped and went to `display'.
I walked over to the lined-up slaves. I was not sure how many would
understand English, but I said to Niko, `Overseer, I understand that you
have been sent two slaves by Mr. Tollman here for retraining. Which are
they?'
Niko looked at me and at Jess and hearing the way that I was speaking of
Jess, he played along.
`Sir, these two here, Paulie Bowers and Shawnie Powell. They just
arrived this morning, Retrainer.'
Niko was fitting into the role-play just nicely.
`I see they have not been gelded yet.'
`No, Retrainer.'
`Mr. Tollman, you want them gelded?'
`Will it decrease their value or their physical strength?' Jess asked
looking at me.
`No, Mr. Tollman, we just take one ball off each, as you can see with
the other slaves here. Makes the testosterone levels drop. Makes them
less aggressive. At the end of their training here, they will be very,
very submissive I can tell you. Very obedient and immediately responsive
to all commands.'
`Very good, Retrainer. I'll leave them in your capable hands. How long
will all of this take, did you say?'
`Eighty seven days is the maximum training period, for very difficult
slaves. I am guessing that these two will be very, very difficult to
break.'
One of the slaves, I thought it was Shawnie, was now sobbing quietly, the
tears running down his face.
`I want the full breaking and training programme for each of them. I
hear they have been sitting around in the sun for the last six months.
It's high time that they found out what it means to be a slave.'
`You mentioned the water-wheels, Mr. Tollman.'
Slaves are supposed to look into the middle distance when they are not
being spoken to directly, but being spoken about. Paulie and Shawnie were
looking back and forth from Jess and myself as we spoke.
`Yes, indeed, Retrainer. Pumping water from the ground. I think just
looking at them now that there are a good twenty to twenty five years of
treading a water-wheel ahead of both of them.'
`Do not worry, Mr. Tollman, I will ensure that they are perfectly
trained for the job.'
We turned to leave as Niko was having difficulty keeping a straight face
behind the line of slaves.
`Jess, Jess, for God's sake. I'm sorry. We're both sorry.'
The slave who had not been crying was now on his knees, his arms still
behind his neck in a kneeling `display'.
`I see what you mean, Mr. Tollman, not at all well trained. That sort of
thing will be rectified so that they never, ever speak to you first.'
Jess Tollman walked the couple of paces back to the kneeling slave.
`Shawnie, you left my children without a father, my wife without a
husband. I should have you muzzled for the eighty seven days of your
retraining here. I should have you flogged for speaking to me now.'
Jess had put the tip of his fly-swish under Shawnie's chin and was
boring into him with his eyes.
`I have hated you both for what you did since I have learned of it. Now
hate has been replaced by revenge which is going to be served to you
coolly and coldly over the next months, so that when you leave these
compounds you will be the most perfectly obedient, caned, flogged and
retrained slaves that have ever come through these gates. Ever! Do I make
myself clear? And never, ever address me again without being spoken to
first.'
Both of the slaves looked at Jess Tollman. The veins were standing out
throbbing on his neck. His chest was heaving. His torso was taut with
muscle definition and in his hand, he held the symbol of authority of an
overseer, which they had come to know and fear in the opal mine they had
just left.
Looking at Niko, Jess said, `I shall be back in a week to see what
progress has been made and I expect to see great progress or else they
repeat this compound, as if from day one. Understood.'
`Yes, Mr. Tollman,' Niko said with a grin, `it will be my personal
pleasure to train these two for you.'
When Greg came to me to talk about the new slave he had seen and wanted
to take as a buddy, it was none other than Juan Luis, the slave now
looking after the solar panels.
I had Greg and Juan Luis move into the overseers' quarters in one of the
new Lemon Palace buildings, while Jess stayed at the Lime Palace in the
room he had formerly shared with Greg Logan.
In the light of what Jess had told me about his own experiences with
Greg, maybe here was someone who could perceive some of what was going on
in my Spanish slave's downcast mind, and knew how to give him the
support he needed. If Greg was a demanding lover, well, it would give
Juan Luis something new to think about. His nights would become more
interesting and offer less idle hours to brood.
Within two weeks, Jess was back with me to ask permission to take as his
new buddy the slave who had arrived from Farouq al-Hamdi with the golden
ribbon around his cock, Pavel Vaksman, the Ukrainian, who had looked
after me in the shower out at the opal mine.
I made no comment on either choice. Taste is such a particular matter
that there is no disputing it and I would not have chosen either as
permanent buddies, but then a slave, even when an overseer, sees things
and other slaves in a different light to a Master.
Jess Tollman was living proof of what is called `versatile' in some
people's books. In his original natural family, he had clearly lived out
his heterosexuality, by his own admission active in sex, and fathered a
boy and a girl. With Greg Logan, he had been a definite submissive, even
to the extent of drinking Greg's piss, as I had one day witnessed
myself. Now he was reverting to being a top again, as clear a proof, if
proof were ever needed, that sexuality can be volatile, fickle, and
changeable.
Now again, as an overseer, he was exercising his authority as a top, not
in a sexual manner, but in one of control and command. In taking Pavel
Vaksman as his buddy, he was taking a submissive slave to be his own.
Pavel's file said that he was obedient, quiet, well-mannered and had
always served his Master well. The initials on the file were `ZAK',
which I took to be Zabian al-Kibbe's. It was as if the promotion to
overseer had given Jess that extra bit of confidence to handle his own
sexuality better.
After our charade through the little pantomime for the benefit of Paulie
and Shawnie, Jess had said to me, as we drove slowly back to the Lime
Palace, `Boss, I don't hate them. I don't. I am sorry for them. They
are pathetic. I don't know what I saw in them before as friends. They
are weak. They are really pathetic. Sorry, Boss, I am repeating myself.'
I said nothing. It was like seeing the last bit of puss oozing out of a
wound. Hatred of what Paulie and Shawnie had done to Jess was abating in
his soul.
`Do you think, Boss, I should go back in a week's time and see how they
are getting on?'
`Yes, Mr. Tollman, I do. They will be expecting it and I have found out,
Mr. Tollman, that you should never disappoint slaves who need to know
that an overseer or a Master will do precisely what he has promised to
do. Otherwise, Mr. Tollman, how will they respect you when they are your
slaves, because you do know that I am going to give command of them to
you.'
`Boss, enough of the Mr. Tollman, please,' Jess said with a smile. `Do
you think I need to be a bit tougher as an overseer?'
`Jess, that is entirely up to you. I think you are a great overseer
already and you are already planning your future as an overseer, which is
even better. Talking of which, you know that Faisal drives me up and back
to the Bank, and then he is left to his own devices in the evening with
his little Chechen playmate.'
`Yes, Boss.'
`I don't go out as you know very much in the evenings, but would you
like to drive the Rolls when I do have to. I am thinking, for example,
that I have to go to Abdou al-Akhri's 50th birthday party next week.'
`Serious, Boss, the Rolls again?' he said with a grin.
`Serious, Jess.'
`I'm your chauffeur, Boss. Only one question, Boss. Do you want me in
uniform, out of uniform or butt naked?'
And we both laughed at his cheekiness.
`We say bollocks naked where I come from, Jess, but I think the grey
uniform you have will do just fine. You tell Faisal, that you are now the
official evening chauffeur and get a map or two from him as to how to get
to Abdou's Palace in the capital city, which should not be too hard to
find as it covers two blocks, or so I am told.'
Abdou al-Akhri's home had to be seen to be believed. They say that if
you have it, flaunt it and for his birthday celebration Abdou was
flaunting it. Jess had taken me up in the Rolls, dressed to kill in his
grey chauffeur's suit and spit-and-polish black shoes.
The Habu Palace was lit in sailing parlance from prow to stern in
indirect golden light, which left its walls, columns and window apertures
floating in a sea of diffused luminescence for all of its full two
blocks.
If such awed me from the outside, on going through two massive
steel-plated gates, which I subsequently learned were tank resistant,
what really surprised me was the oasis of greenery within totally
enclosed walls in the middle of the capital city.
Limousines were pulling up with al-Akhri family members. Children and
wives were spilling out onto the steps of the Palace resplendent in every
shade and colour of finery with mothers trying to fix children's
clothes, children holding on for dear life to obvious wrapped presents.
We took our time and Jess soon deposited me at the steps and was
immediately directed toward an allocated parking spot. He had asked me,
if he could listen to the radio in the Rolls.
`What do you think my answer should be, Jess?'
`A cautious Master would say `no', a prudent one might say `maybe',
a trusting Master would say `yes'.'
`Well, there Jess you have your answer,' and he kept looking back at me
in the mirror. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled
over my reply.
However, to take him out of any misery, he might have been in, on getting
out of the Rolls, I merely said to him, `Enjoy,' as he stood with the
handle of the open door in his hand.
He grinned back at me, saying, `Master, you can trust me even more than
I trust you.'
Two of Abdou's slaves--bracelets on the ankles noted--were to hand to
take my own present to Abdou, out of the boot of the car. As usual for
presents, I was bringing two bolts of Mohair from my tailors in London.
Fashions may come and fashions may go, but Mohair is always the fabric of
a great suit. The two colours I had chosen where a narrow grey pinstripe
and a blue-grey charcoal, either of which would suit the European side of
Abdou to a tee.
It was the banker in me that totted up the wealth of the al-Akhri family
as I went in, certainly not less than twenty five billion, perhaps even
thirty billon euro. Rashid with whom I had various unsavoury contacts,
Jalal, Tariq my friend and Mustafa, all older brothers, were there. The
host was not yet to be seen. I estimated that there must have been more
than at Rashid's fiftieth birthday party, where there had been some
three hundred family members present.
I was in evening dress, as I deemed this to be a formal and important
occasion. On the invitation card, no dress code had been mentioned, as
clearly the invitations in both Arabic and English would have been almost
entirely for the family. I could see only one other European there, that
is to say European by his dress and that turned out to be Abdou's
closest Manager in Geneva.
The function room was immense. It was more like a ballroom, scattered
with about thirty tables covered in white cloths and silverware.
Suddenly, there was applause and shouting and some of the very
distinctive female trilling, which is so uniquely Arabic. Abdou al-Akhri,
the host had arrived, followed by his four wives and twelve children. It
had never even occurred to me that Abdou had children, but I do remember
that he had referred to his family and wife, but not wives, in the
plural, on some occasion on which we had spoken.
Each of the brothers were clapping him on the back, embracing him with
both arms, children and nephews and nieces were all milling about in one
quite large, happy family situation.
Our eyes locked for a moment at one stage and I gave Abdou a wave and a
shake of the head, as much as to say `What a party!' and Abdou went
back to patting small heads with his arms half-raised in the air and
enjoying every moment of the attention.
I noticed that here in the function room, there were both male and female
slaves in attendance, all of a Middle Eastern mien and look. The slaves
must have received some covert signal, as they started to circulate with
trays of soft drinks and open canapés.
It was all very organised, even the upset caused by one youngster running
backwards into a slave with a tray of the foodstuffs, who let it slip
from her grasp and its clatter caused a momentary stillness, while the
child just stood there eyes wide open and hands to his mouth. A bevy of
slaves were to hand to mop up the tray's contents and the female slave,
who must have known the youngster, made a funny face at him, and he ran
off. It was evidently an evening only for fun and enjoyment.
Unlike Rashid's party, there was no throne for the host, but simply a
large high-backed wide chair with arms. A voice at my elbow said, `Sir
Jonathan,' and a male slave clad in blue tight-fitting shorts, indicated
with an open hand that I was expected to move in the direction indicated,
which was to Abdou's table itself.
I noticed that I was seated immediately to the left of Abdou's
high-backed chair. On Abdou's right was his first wife, or so I deemed
her to be. To my left was his eldest son, who introduced himself a Nalin
al-Akhri and spoke very quiet, careful and precise English, as if afraid
to make a mistake in speaking it.
I then realised my mistake as to my surmise on the seating, as Abdou sat
down two seats away to my right, leaving the high-backed chair vacant.
Our table filled up. The friend from Geneva, the only other person there
in Western dress, was just across from me and we introduced ourselves,
though I did not quite get his Swiss-French name, Jean-Luc something or
other. But he appeared to know who I was.
Each of the al-Akhri brothers had their own number of tables and on the
outer fringes of the function room, were the lesser family members. The
food was delicious and in the style of the Gulf region, it was comprised
of small portions from a multitude of lazy-Susan dishes. I did notice
that no alcohol was being served which did not bother me in the least.
We were well into the dinner, if the feast could be termed such, when
there was some noise outside the function room and the end doors were
thrown open by two slaves and the Sheik of Dahra walked in. There was
immediate applause and tough the room was filled with tables, it was as
if the tables had somehow separated and had left a route open to the
table where Abdou was sitting. The vacant chair was explained.
It was not lost on anyone present the closeness of the bond, which
existed between the Sheik and Abdou al-Akhri. I nodded to Tariq, when I
caught his eye at some point and he nodded his head back at me.
The Sheik embraced Abdou with both arms and kissed him on either cheek.
Abdou looked proud and flustered and pleased all in one. Without even
looking, the Sheik sat down and the high-backed chair was moved in to
accommodate his lowering frame by one of his own staff, whom I had not
even seen.
`Sir Jonathan, what a pleasure to see you.'
The Sheik was speaking in Arabic and we continued in that language.
`Your Excellency, the pleasure I assure you is all mine. May I introduce
Abdou's eldest son,' and I indicated Nalin to my left as protocol would
indicate. The Sheik did not need an introduction, as he obviously knew
the son.
`Ah, Nalin. How is the London School of Economics treating you?'
`Very well, your Excellency. I am studying very hard,' the young Dahran
replied, very modestly.
`No more night clubs, then?'
`No, your Excellency. Definitely not,' blushing.
The Sheik smiled at me and at the young man's discomfiture.
I chuckled to myself. As I have always said, the Sheik knows his Dahra
and his Dahrans.
It was not a night for business and the Sheik gave his full attention to
Abdou and to Abdou's first wife. As the Sheik had come in late, he was
offered a tray of small delicacies and he took two and sipped from a
glass of water. That was his dinner, at least at Abdou's. No one
appeared to notice and certainly did not comment on it.
The Sheik was soon finished and he half-turned to the courtier who had
arranged his chair. No words were exchanged and the courtier nodded to
another close to the double doors, who took a large package off a table
and proceeded up the function room.
Coming up to our table, the courtier approached the Sheik, who stood up
and handed him the package. The Sheik made a great mime, as if the
package weighed a ton much to the amusement of the youngsters present,
whose eyes were riveted on the intended gift.
`Happy birthday, Abdou and long life.'
Abdou was beaming. The applause was deafening.
`Open! Open! Open'' the youngsters began to chant and everyone
laughed, so Abdou had no choice but to open the package.
Taken out of its layers of tissue paper, the Sheik's present was a
copper coloured bronze of a horse at full gallop.
Abdou held it up for all to admire.
The Sheik looked at me and half-whispered, `Taspells, you know, Sir
Jonathan, always have a fine range.'
`Yes, indeed, your Excellency,' and I took a long drink of water, as
the horse at full gallop was being displayed to the al-Akhri family, one
which was identical to the pair I had given the two slave dealers at
al-Qatim and al-Mera!
The Sheik was already standing up. He was about to depart. It was clear
we had been but another stop on his busy evening schedule and he left as
quickly and as efficiently as he had arrived.
I looked at my plate; there were four small sweetmeats left. While Nalin
was busy speaking to others, I signalled the slave waiter who had been
serving me and told him to bring the sweetmeats to my driver, whom he
would find in the Rolls outside. The slave disappeared immediately
through a side door.
It was the moment of the presents and they went from the youngest
upwards. Soon our table, which had been cleared of its cutlery and
plates, was covered with wrapped gifts with little cards attached.
It took almost an hour for Abdou to take every family member's present
and then I recognised my own double bolt of cloth being brought it by two
slaves. I noticed that the four al-Akhri brothers were all laughing and
clapping in my direction as each knew what the present contained by its
length.
Abdou said, `Can I hazard a guess?'
And everyone laughed again in pleasure. On this occasion, none of the
presents had been opened and therefore neither was mine.
I then realised the four brothers had not made their gifts to Abdou, when
four slaves walked in through the double end doors, each unrolling a
ribbon from its spool, one in red, others in blue, green and black.
Everyone started clapping at something special being in the air.
Each of the slaves gave the unspooled ribbons to the respective brothers
who came forward to our table and handed the four ribbons in a bunch to
Abdou. It was clear he had to follow the ribbons out of the room and a
slow handclap started and again the trilling.
We all trooped out into the foyer of the Palace down a wide corridor and
out into a cloistered courtyard with a fountain in its centre.
Each of the ribbons was attached to the harness of a thoroughbred horse.
Even I, who would know nothing of horseflesh, could see the stamp of
quality on those beautiful animals, as their breath steamed in the
evening air and they clattered their hooves on the cobblestones of the
courtyard. It was just as well that each harness was being held by two
slaves, because as the courtyard filled up, I could see that the horses
were becoming very skittish.
In decreasing order of age, Abdou greeted his brothers, Rashid, Jalal,
Tariq and Mustafa, embraced them yet again and thanked each for their
magnificent gift of horseflesh.
I had discovered another unknown side, in fact two unknown sides, to my
friend Abdou. He liked horses and he was also a politician in the making;
Nalin having mentioned to me that his three step-mothers were one each
from the `other tribes' as he put it. I thought of the Sheik's own
wives and their origins and Abdou was obviously learning from a Master.
Rather than go back into the Palace, when the noise had settled down a
bit and the horses had been led away, I approached Abdou and said that I
was going to have an early night.
`Thank you for the bolts of Mohair, Jonathan.'
`Mohair? How do you know it is Mohair? You haven't even opened the
wrapping yet!'
And we both laughed.
`Again, happy birthday, Abdou and long life.'
I made my way round to where the cars were parked and soon found the
Rolls. I could hear `country and western' softly playing on the radio.
I opened the back door and got in. Jess shot up straight in the front
seat.
`Boss, I didn't see you coming. No one told me,' he said, as he
switched off the radio.
`No problem, Jess. It's murder out the back. There are children hanging
from the rafters. Back home, when you can get us out.'
`Boss, did I see horses going in there.'
`Four birthday presents.'
`Wow, some party! And was that the Sheik? There was enough security
around whoever it was.'
`That was the Sheik.'
`Boss, thanks for the snacks.'
`Don't mention it, Jess. It was all like that. Plates and plates of
small stuff.'
`Boss, I still have two of them left. Can I give them to Pavel when I
get back.'
`Is this Ukrainian so special that you are bringing him food now?'
`Yes, Boss, he is a bit special. I'm taking it a bit easy with him. We
sort of just hang on to each other at night. He wanted to do all sorts of
weird and wonderful things at first, but I told him that I would tell him
what I wanted and when I wanted it. That sort of calmed him down.'
I had to smile to myself at hearing Jess' assertiveness.
`I think, Boss, that he believes that he has to please me continually or
otherwise I'll trade him in for another.'
`And will you?'
`Maybe yes, Boss, but then again, maybe no. He tries so hard to please
me in bed.'
`And is that not a good thing.'
`No, Boss, I don't think so. Not all the time. There have to be ups and
downs, sort of like the desert. Sometimes you have to please, sometimes
you have to let yourself be pleased.'
`I think, Jess, you are not just turning into a chauffeur, but also into
a philosopher.'
We both started to laugh at that.
`Boss, I just love this automobile, even though it's English. It is so
smooth running.'
`Jess, you have good taste that I will admit. Now, keep your mind on the
driving.'
`Yes, Boss, all the way.'
`And Jess..'
`Yes, Boss?'
`Give your Pavel those leftover snacks of yours.'
`Yes, Boss, I will. I'll tell him you said so. He will just love
that.'
`Love what?'
`He'll just love that among all the slaves in the Palace, that you know
his name.'
I thought to myself that maybe Ben Trant, my secretary, had something
there after all, when he said that what a slave most looked for from a
Master, was to be known and to be loved.
The day had been long and hot and the evening with Abdou enjoyable. I
quarter-opened the car window and let the cooling evening air of the
desert wash over my face as we sped down the West Road.
`Jess, put that `country and western' back on. Nice and low.'
`Yes, Boss! Yes, Siree! Yes, Sir!'
End of Chapter 11
To be continued . . .